


cloud nine

by snowtagonist



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, darnold is the best friend ever, excessive use of the word "pretty", gordon is oblivious, its mutual but tommy doesnt know that, this was supposed to be short but that didnt work out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowtagonist/pseuds/snowtagonist
Summary: Black Mesa is gone. Everything's over. Everything's new.(aka: i looked at the troupe of having benrey move in with gordon post-canon and went "WHAT IF IT WAS TOMMY" so hard that i wrote 18k words about it)
Relationships: Tommy Coolatta & Darnold, Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 47
Kudos: 291





	cloud nine

**Author's Note:**

> hi. freelatta rights. title is from cloud nine by beach bunny because i'm not original

It doesn’t quite register to Tommy that he doesn’t have anywhere to _go_ until after the party.

With the chaos of Black Mesa, the absolute disaster of a fight that ended it all, and the sudden and bizarre continuation of his dad’s strange tradition of hosting a party at Chuck E. Cheese every year, it hadn’t quite sunk in. Equal parts trauma and shitty, barely warm pizza with about as much flavour as cardboard dunked in cheese will do that to you.

When the high of desperate, panicked adrenaline and odd thankfulness that his dad remembered his birthday despite everything wears off, he’s left standing in the parking lot with his head tilted up to the sky. His hat almost threatens to fall off. He wonders if the blood will ever wash out of it.

Up above, the stars sparkle like they always have, like nothing’s changed at all.

He almost envies them.

The night sky almost seems to swirl before his eyes, inky shades of black and blue blurring against the pinpricks of dazzling, persistent light. It almost feels like he could touch it if he reached up, fly away into the stars and forget about silly things like his sudden lack of a home. That place might have been hell, but his _dorm_ was there, for fucks sake! He’s stranded in a world that isn’t his, and the idea of a place above, far away from here, is appealing to say the least. If he tried hard enough, maybe he really could make it there.

Exhaustion fueled hypotheticals exit his brain at record speed when he feels a hand come down on his shoulder.

The touch is gentle, _so_ gentle, but he still leaps about a foot out of his skin, letting out a panicked squeak he’s not too proud of at the contact. Jumpy, huh. Another thing to get used to. In his defense, _anyone’s_ nerves would be shot after the day he’s just had.

“Hey, hey- shit dude, sorry.” Gordon’s voice is like a salve, washing over him and draining the tension from his shoulders as he breathes a weak sigh. Safe. Gordon’s safe. This is okay.

“It’s- it’s fine, Mr. Freeman. Just, um- a bit… distracted.”  
  
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He hears Gordon mumble under his breath, and the tired smile that tugs at the corner of his lips is unbearably warm. “Just wanted to check on you, man, I mean… everyone else kinda left already, and you’re still- still out here. All alone. Are you, um, doing okay?”

Isn’t that a question for the fucking ages. For a moment, his mind is torn between a real answer, and the sort of dry sarcasm that situations like this seem to inspire in him. It’s just… it's all so bleak. The world ended and changed and warped so badly he lost any sense of normality in his already strange life, and now they’re… here. In the parking lot of a family entertainment centre that he insists is a restaurant just to bother his dad. And he doesn’t have anywhere to go.

He’s too tired for any sort of filter. Honesty it is.

“...No, Mr. Freeman. I’m not.”

Gordon looks at him for a moment- just looks. Holds him in his field of view as a sort of understanding bleeds into his eyes, concern welling just behind those pretty brown irises. He hates when people stare- the feeling of being picked apart by prying eyes practically burns him down to his very core- but that’s not what this is. Gordon’s not trying to dissect him, not trying to peel him back to find anything, he’s just… looking. Seeing. Understanding. No expectations, nothing hostile. He just looks _worried,_ and like he _cares_.

It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah. Dumb question, huh, bud?” Gordon laughs, and the sound is so loud in the dead air around them. It’s chilly out, the darkness of the night stark against the fluorescent lighting above the pavement that glints off Gordon’s skin, expression just as haggard as the one he’s sure he’s wearing himself. He can almost see the other man’s breath as he pulls himself back together, small clouds puffing around his mouth while his hands fumble for his pockets. The flash of metal as they slide into his jacket pockets is more than Tommy can handle thinking about right now.

For a moment, there’s silence. It feels almost heavy, after so long spent with constant noise, but he doesn’t really mind. He steals a sidelong glance at Gordon, taking in the curve of his neck as he stares up at the stars, the bags under his eyes that he’s almost certain weren’t there before, the way his slightly frizzy hair falls around his ears and down his back, only held out of his face with a bright yellow elastic that looks about ready to snap. It feels almost wrong, to see him like this- unguarded and human in the middle of the night after the worst experience of both their lives.

Beautiful. He’s so beautiful, and it makes his chest feel funny even as the reality of everything threatens to overwhelm him.

He snaps his eyes down to the pavement the instant Gordon moves. 

“...Hey.” Gordon says softly, and even without his eyes, Tommy can tell he shifts a little closer. His heart rate picks up for just a moment, thumping in his throat.

“H-hey.”

Another pause, another moment of heavy silence- that is, until he feels Gordon’s arms around him, borrowed khaki jacket rustling slightly as he moves.

Tommy’s slowly calming heart decides now is the time to start beating like crazy.

Gordon flinches back as soon as he notices- which is immediately, because of course it is. Fuck. He feels almost dizzy with the briefest of contact, head swimming and he can’t quite puzzle out if it’s because of how goddamn tired he is, the hug, or both. Maybe it doesn’t actually matter.

“Fuck- sorry, I should have asked-” Gordon sounds apologetic, tone soft and worried and he can’t take this, not right now.  
  
“No- nonono! It’s. Um, it’s-” Fuck it. Fuck subtlety. He moves forward, pulling Gordon into a hug of his own, praying his trembling hands don’t give him away.

The way Gordon goes still for a moment, posture stiff and awkward in his arms, makes Tommy’s heart drop into his stomach. He’s halfway to an apology, weak and breathless as his heart practically beats out of his chest, before he softens, arms wrapping tightly around him in return like this was meant to happen, or something sappy like that. It’s almost pathetic, the way his brain goes all soft around Gordon, thoughts mellowing into a pleasant, honey-sweet feeling that fills his head with what-ifs he does his best to bury the next day. But god, he’s just so _tired-_ he doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed right now. Leave that for future Tommy- he’s always the one to deal with it anyway.

The realization that Gordon’s petting his hair makes him practically melt right then and there. Pack it up. He’s done for.

Gordon’s voice is soft as it’s ever been when he starts to murmur from above the crook of his neck that Tommy’s gone and buried himself in. “Might wanna go home, buddy. You aren’t looking too great.” 

Tommy almost wants to laugh at that. Crack some sort of joke to soften the blow and make himself feel better. He can’t make himself, though- no energy left for humour, no matter how bleak.

“I don’t- I don’t have a home.”

He feels the way Gordon’s breath hitches more than he hears it, nestled comfortably against his chest despite the way he has to bend down to hug him. If he’s being honest, he never wants to move.

“...Shit, dude.” Gordon’s hands tighten slightly where they’re resting, pulling him closer ever so slightly even if he doesn’t notice. It’s… nice. Gordon cares. Of course he cares. “Did- did something happen to it?”  
  
A snort leaves him before he can stop it, shoulders shaking. “Yeah. A whole- a whole resonance cascade. You may- you might have, um, noticed.”

Gordon’s breath hisses on the inhale, and he almost feels guilty for the palpable concern he can hear, even in a wordless gesture like that. “You... lived at Black Mesa too, huh?”

“Yeah. My- my uh, dad… doesn’t have a house, really. And I w-wouldn’t want to, to live with him anyway.” Now there's a thought. He could just ask his dad to help him out. But as much as he loves his father, he’s had enough of that space time bullshit for a year. Maybe… maybe he’d better not.

“You got anywhere to crash? I mean, you’re a likeable guy. You- you gotta have some friends who’d be willing to help, right?”

His silence probably speaks volumes, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s afraid it might start to bleed. 

“I, uh, don’t… have many friends. You guys, and, and Darnold… are about- about all I’ve got.” The way he mumbles into Gordon’s shoulder almost makes him worry that he’ll have to repeat himself, hands tightening around the back of the other man’s jacket. He mutters an even quieter “sorry” as he clings, tears held back for too long starting to pool in his eyes.

The way Gordon’s hands stroke over his hair, careful not to pull and gentle in a way he can just _feel_ the concern behind, is the straw that breaks him. It’s slow, and quiet, and desperate, hands curling into fists in the starchy fabric between his fingers as a tear slides down his face. He barely makes a sound until he does, heavy breaths turning into hiccuping sobs that he does his best to muffle in the collar of Gordon’s jacket, chest heaving as days worth of emotions he’s never been good with handling bubble to the surface all at once. His head is spinning, tears soaking both his face and the garment he’s buried his face in- god, he’s going to feel guilty for staining Gordon’s clothes later. That and crying on him out of nowhere after telling him he’s homeless and doesn’t have any friends.

He’s never been more thankful for Gordon’s easy physicality than when he places a hand on the small of Tommy’s back, stroking gently as he mutters soft phrases and shushes him quietly in the cold, dry air. 

It’s easier to ground himself like this, with Gordon warm and gentle against him, holding him like he’s something worth taking care of. It makes him trip into stupid puppy love all over again.

That doesn’t make it easy, though. It’s a long, long while before the tears slow to a halt, leaving his eyes red and burning at the corners as he holds on tightly, too tightly to the guy who just held him through… all that shit without pushing him once. Something settles in his chest, his breathing levelling out despite the way it still trembles on the exhale.

“You there, man?” Gordon asks softly, squeezing lightly at Tommy’s shoulder. “That was… you really needed that, didn’t you.”

  
It’s not a question. He’s so stupidly glad it’s not a question. He can’t dodge that, can’t instinctively dance around the point until it drops and he shoves everything into a corner for later. It’s just a statement, something objective and plain and true- he can let it be.

“Y-yeah. I- I guess I did.”

Tommy sniffles, just letting himself sit for a moment- feeling the gentle rise and fall of Gordon’s chest against his own. It’s easy in a way things just haven’t been in a long, long time.

“Hey, um-” 

Gordon’s voice shakes him from the lulled state of exhaustion he’d fallen into, clearing his throat awkwardly. He’d probably have done it into his fist were it not for the way he refuses to move his hands away from holding Tommy so carefully his heart might burst.

“-This, uh. This might be a bit- a bit presumptuous, but do you… maybe wanna move in? With me?”

Holy shit. He _cannot_ have heard that right.

But no, Gordon’s still going. “I mean, you don’t have to stay very _long_ , we can look into getting you a place of your own and shit- but I- you need _somewhere_ to stay.”

Tommy wheezes slightly as he tightens his hold on Gordon again, shaking his head without really thinking about it. He heard that right. Holy _shit,_ this is real.

“...I- fuck, sorry. Probably shouldn’t have asked.”  
  
He blinks, glancing up for the first time in a good while, short brows knit together in confusion. “Huh?”   
  
“Kind of assumed you’d need a place to crash? You, uh- you shook your head there. That probably means you… don’t. Yeah.” Gordon sounds embarrassed, face turned down towards the rough pavement, his voice just barely tinged with worry and… disappointment? That one’s new.

“Wh-what? I _do_ need a, a place to stay, Mr. Freeman- what are you talking about?”

Now it’s Gordon’s turn to look confused. _He’s kind of cute with that crease in his brow,_ his stupid brain supplies. Worse, he agrees with it.

“You- then- what?” He stumbles over his words, craning his head down to look at Tommy awkwardly with a borderline pout on his face as he tries to puzzle this out. It’s so endearing he can’t help but giggle.

Gordon blinks, a whisper of a smile creeping onto his own lips even as he peers down at Tommy with bewildered eyes. “What’s- what’s so funny, man?”

Tommy snorts as he clings, letting his head thump back into Gordon’s shoulder with a laugh before he pulls himself up again to look him in the eyes. “I- of course I’d like, I’d like to live with you. It’s really- it’s very nice of you to offer, Mr. Freeman!”  
  
The smile Gordon flashes at that is so warm, so utterly fond that Tommy almost forgets why he’d been crying at all.

\---

Moving is easy when you don’t exactly have any belongings.

Tommy’s never really been the type to keep things around for the sake of it. Sure, he’s got trinkets like anyone would- one of Sunkist’s old collars, an assortment of old beaded bracelets he refuses to throw away, a framed picture of him and his dad from ages ago- but it’s always been a relatively small collection when it comes to stuff he owns. Well… _owned_ would be the better term now- Black Mesa is gone, and with it, all of his things.

He’s not terribly upset. He might be more than a little sentimental, but he’ll recover from the loss.

Even so, Gordon insisted on getting him things. Just the basics, really- some blankets, new clothes- practically a whole new wardrobe, actually- a pair of earrings he’d picked up on impulse, a few other trinkets…

Okay, Gordon might be spoiling him a little. It’s just plain sweet, and he doesn’t know how to go about turning him down.

They haven’t even actually made it _to_ Gordon’s apartment yet, even a day later. Driving home hadn’t been a very appealing concept directly after they’d gone through hell and subsequently had a moment of sorts in a Chuck E. Cheese parking lot. Crashing in a nearby motel had made a _lot_ more sense at the time. And after they’d woken up, well… Gordon’s weird determination to give him things kicked in, and he couldn’t have stopped it if he tried.

He probably could have, actually. He just would’ve felt bad.

It seems like their little shopping spree is finally over, though, even if Gordon’s fussing isn’t. He keeps checking on him, pulling gently on the lapels of the horribly stained lab coat Tommy’s still wearing, smoothing them down as if it matters, asking little questions and fixing him with a stare that almost pries, almost burns, but never quite makes it to that side of uncomfortable. It’s… weird. Gordon’s always like this, trying to protect everyone- even people that don’t need protecting. Or don’t want it.

Tommy can’t bring himself to mind, really. He hates that it’s almost impossible to turn down the chance to have Gordon pay attention to him.

His mind adrift, Gordon herds him down around one of the corners of the street they’ve been walking on for a while now. It turns out Gordon doesn’t have a car- gets too anxious behind the wheel, he says. Tommy can respect that, even if he himself finds a strange sort of comfort in drifting down an empty highway, turning gently on the road beneath his wheels. But then again, inner city traffic is absolute hell, so maybe he understands to some degree.

“You feeling alright there?” Gordon asks, smooth voice cutting through the fog of Tommy’s thoughts. “It seemed like you went somewhere else for a second, man.”

He shakes his head sharply, blinking as he realizes they’ve come to a halt. Gordon lays a hand on his arm, looking up at him with an expression akin to concern, one eyebrow raised in that way that makes his stomach go all flippy. 

Fuck, living with this guy is going to kill him, isn’t it?

“I- no, I’m fine.” He laughs softly, clasping his hands together awkwardly as he scuffs a shoe on the sidewalk, eyes ever so slightly averted. It’s doubtful that he’s convincing anyone, but hey, he tried.

Gordon looks up at him, before glancing away. He’s not going to push it- and Tommy’s almost thankful for that.

(Another part of him wishes that he’d pry, just a little. Just one time.)

Still, Gordon squeezes his bicep for a moment, smiling softly before pulling away with a jerk of his head to the side. “C’mon. Let’s get your stuff set up, yeah?”

Tommy can’t help but nod stupidly as Gordon turns his back on him, walking towards the apartment building he’s only just now noticed with that practiced bravado in his step. He thinks, for a split second, that he could stare at Gordon forever like this, take in every little detail and not miss a thing, and it’d be all he’d ever need- but it’s a second, and nothing more. Just a silly, fleeting thought. That’s… that’s all.

“Um- y-yeah! Mr. Freeman, wait up!”

\---

Standing in Gordon’s apartment like this should not be blowing his mind the way it is.

It’s just… it feels so _personal_ . Like he’s looking at something private, something closely guarded- and in a way, he is. This is Gordon’s _home-_ not just his house, not just a place he inhabits. He’s everywhere in this space, from the fluffy blankets scattered all over the couch that look slightly matted from being so well loved, to the half full mug with a horrible science pun written on it in bold script sitting on the coffee table a few feet away, to even the soft smell of cinnamon and nutmeg that permeates the air. Gordon must like to cook, given the small box of messily scribbled down recipe cards that he passes as he ducks his head into the kitchen. He didn’t know that before.

Even with the easy way Gordon lets him in here, makes some joke that Tommy laughs at but doesn’t quite hear, it still feels… well, he’s not sure how it feels. His hopeless romantic of a brain tends to read into things a little too much, and he knows it- but Gordon’s got more walls than the toughest fortress on his bad days, and this is like seeing a piece of his soul bared. For _Tommy_. He trusts Tommy enough to let him see this, enough to let him stay here.

Something in his chest unfurls, warm and hopeful. He can’t find it in himself to swallow the feeling this time.

“You- so- d’you like to bake, Mr. Freeman?” He asks, even if he thinks he knows the answer, pulling himself from the haze of his thoughts.

Gordon blinks, like he wasn’t expecting to be asked anything, his lips slightly parted before understanding dawns on him and his eyes practically light up. Tommy can’t help the way his heart jumps.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah I do- I bake a lot when I get worked up, honestly. Or when I’m bored? It’s really nice to… y’know, make stuff.” He laughs, light and genuine, as he brushes a hand over an empty cake pan resting on the counter. “I made lemon bars before… everything. It’s kinda silly, now that I think about it- but sometimes I’d be freaking out, and I’d think about those fucking lemon bars and how I wanted to finish the pan. And it helped!” Gordon pauses, scratching at his beard with a softer chuckle. “Guess it pays to have mundane shit to look forward to.”

Before Tommy can even manage a response, something seems to hit Gordon all at once, a toothy grin spreading over his face. 

“Hang on-” He mutters, whirling around to fling the fridge open with shining eyes, rummaging through it with focused intensity that Tommy can’t help but smile at. His excitement comes to a head with a triumphant “AHA!”, yanking a half empty pan of bright yellow squares from the bottom rack and promptly falling backwards with the momentum.

Tommy can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his throat at that, spilling out and making his chest feel light in a way it hasn’t for a long while. He also can’t help the way it gets louder, his body doubling over, when Gordon sticks his tongue out indignantly from the floor.

“Don’t laugh! If you laugh you don’t get any lemon squares!” There’s a giggle in Gordon’s voice too- and a wheeze, but that’s probably from the heavy pan weighing directly on his ribs.

“Oh- oh god- p-please hold on, holy shit-” Tommy cackles, leaning heavily on the countertop next to him, his eyes screwed shut. His face feels hot all over, a grin splitting his face open as Gordon snorts from the ground.

“Hey, I was caught up in the euphoria of shit I baked before the world went to hell! You can’t blame me for that!” Gordon’s tone is edged with humour, loud and unabashed, and it makes his heart do funny things.

Tommy cracks an eye open as he gasps for breath between bursts of laughter, his face burning red from the exertion, and Gordon beams right back up at him, now sitting cross legged with the pan in his lap. He leans back on his forearms, gesturing to it with a raise of his eyebrows, and all Tommy can manage is a thumbs up before another fit of giggles overtakes him.

Gordon shakes his head as he rises to his feet, laying a hand carefully on Tommys shoulder with a lopsided grin. “You’re so mean to me, man-” He chuckles, a clear undertone of sarcasm in his voice, so thick it’s impossible to miss, “-now, do you want some of these or what? I’ve never made ‘em before, and I’ve gotta get a second opinion, y’know.”

With the way Tommy’s heart leaps in his chest, there are few things he’s ever wanted more.

\---

Looking at it now, deciding to move in with the guy he’s had a massive crush on since day fucking one might have been a bit of a questionable decision.

For one, it’s a hell of a lot more… intimate than Tommy’s really used to. His dad aside, he’s nearly always lived alone- no time for roommates, and no real _desire_ for one anyway. It’s easier to keep things in order- keep them working how he needs them to, make sure that all the little things piece together- when you’re on your own. He can’t stand when his spaces aren't _right._ There’s a way of things with him, and he keeps it on lock. 

On the other side of that, it means he has no fucking idea how to handle living with another person.

Gordon has… habits. Routines. Little things he does every day that Tommy always jots down in his head quicker than he should. Like, for example- he always seems to make himself two cups of coffee. One is just plain black, and usually only halfway full, and the other is a frothy mess of sugar that Tommy’s not sure even he could stomach. Then again, he’s never been a huge fan of the stuff. But Gordon always drinks the first one straight away, slamming it down like he wants to get it over with, before he moves onto the latte that could dubiously still be called coffee. It’s strange to him, really- why go through all that loop-de-loop trouble just to wake up? But it’s Gordon, and he keeps an eye on Gordon. Looks out for him. Maybe lets his eyes linger just a bit too long whenever he yawns, stretching his arms over his head and letting his shirt ride up just slightly. You know- like friends do. 

That’s another thing. Gordon’s just so _open_ in his own home, unabashedly human in all the ways he couldn’t be before. He cooks things, lots of things, more things than Tommy’s ever had given how little he actually needs to eat and hums along to whatever melody is bouncing around in his head that day while he does it. He picks up around the apartment, and never seems to ask for any help, even if Tommy usually ends up doing some of the work anyway. He slides onto the couch beside Tommy sometimes, sitting down to watch whatever’s on and snatch a few of his snacks in a way he probably thinks is subtle. Some days, he stumbles out of his room visibly sleepy, with bleary eyes and frizzy curls in his face- and Tommy really shouldn’t be thinking this, but _god_ is it cute.

He finds himself thinking about moments like that a lot lately- not that he hasn’t always let his mind linger too long on small things that don’t matter, but you know. It’s hard to think straight when his head is always at least half filled with little fragments of time that won’t leave him be. Gordon has a way of getting under his skin in a way no one ever has before, and it’s starting to drive him to distraction.

Lying face up on a guest room bed in the dark while staring at the shitty popcorn ceiling is a great place to think too much about your crush, Tommy muses to himself. It’s only a little pathetic.

He’s been thinking like this for a good while anyway, he knows, but living here sure isn’t helping. Before, at least, moments he could flip over and over in his mind until his head started to spin weren’t exactly the most common of occurrences- just the occasional admission of trust that made his heart go haywire, or a well-earned laugh at one of his jokes, or a sidelong, warm glance that nearly made his knees give out. Life or death situations aren’t the best places for a meet cute.

But here? Now? In the relative safety of Gordon’s apartment, when the world doesn’t seem like it’s out to get them anymore? Moments like that are _everywhere_.

Gordon’s kind. He’s always been kind, as long as Tommy’s known him, but the lower stress of the way things are now certainly helps with his tendency to get loud and angry when he’s overwhelmed- like he’s trying to fight the problem off on his own, like he’s utterly terrified. He has his moments, sure, bad reactions to a pot falling on the ground, getting a little too worked up over a puzzle he couldn’t solve, but it’s better. Calmer. It’s good for both of them.

Tommy’s mind finally hits on a word he’d been looking for for a moment or two, things clicking into place in a way they hadn’t before. Gordon’s looser like this- not wound tight like a spring ready to snap. He smiles more, laughs in a way that isn’t forced and tense, catches more of Tommy’s jokes. It’s… good. It’s a good look on him. Unfairly good, when he’s doubled over cackling at something Tommy said, face flushed with mirth- and some part of his stupid brain can’t help but be overjoyed that he _did_ that, made Gordon laugh like that, made him look so happy and carefree and _warm_. The image of his smiling face just won’t leave Tommy’s mind, no matter how hard he tries.

It makes him feel so much. _Gordon_ makes him feel so much. Hell, the guy’s not even here- probably not even awake- and he’s _still_ driving Tommy crazy. He can’t help it, apparently.

He drags his hands down his face, feeling for himself just how flushed his face is. If it weren’t for the near pitch darkness around him, he’s sure he’d be bright red.

_...Does he want Gordon to see him blush?_

The thought passes through his mind unbidden, and all he can do is scream into a pillow, arms flailing and cheeks burning up even more. Gordon. Always Gordon. Just can’t get the guy out of his head for five seconds, apparently! 

...But does he?  
  
Now that he thinks about it, he wants Gordon to see him do a lot of things. Nothing special, really- Tommy just wants those eyes (pretty, pretty eyes, his brain supplies, and he shoves his face deeper into the pillow he’s clutching) on him. More than is probably normal. He wants Gordon to look at him with that strange affection that borders on reverence that shines through on his face sometimes. Wants Gordon to see him in every way possible and care about him anyway. For once in his life, he wants to be _seen_ \- not left alone where no one can make fun of him the way he’s always been so prone to, not given the space he needs to get his brain to work right- he wants someone to see him, inside and out, and like him not despite it, but because of it. He wants Gordon to do that. His chest aches with it

He wants, he wants, he _wants._

...He’s not going to be able to sleep like this.

Tommy sighs, running a hand back through his hair in the self soothing way he’s always done, feeling the way it shifts under his fingers. It’s getting long again- brushing the tops of his ears in that way that makes his skin crawl. The worst part is it’s not even long enough to pull back the way he used to when he was younger. Sitting up as he thinks, he grimaces, tucking the too-long strands behind his ear the best he can- which isn’t very well. 

He ought to cut it. Maybe Gordon has a razor or something he can borrow.

Shifting his weight in the guest room bed that he just can’t bring himself to think of as his even after a few weeks living here, Tommy lets his socked feet hit the ground. The sensation of hardwood under his feet is almost odd- but maybe that's just the late night delirium talking. He sighs, shuffling to the door and out into the dimly lit hall. If he’s going to be awake at an hour like this, he might as well snag something to eat. Just because he might not strictly need food doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it.

He nearly has a heart attack when he sees Gordon already standing in the kitchen.

Something in him freezes, his body taking half a step backwards into the hall without his consent. Like this, he can just see what’s happening in the kitchen, the shadows in the hallway obscuring him at first glance.

Well, except for his eyes. He imagines the glowing might be a bit of an issue.

If it is, Gordon doesn’t seem to notice. Gordon doesn’t seem terribly aware of anything around him, movements sluggish and clumsy as he… tries to do something. Tommys not sure what.

The longer he looks, the more it hits him how… _tired_ Gordon looks. Not just the sleepy, late night kind of tired that he’d have expected to see given the time- no, it’s a bone deep sort of exhaustion. The kind that burrows to your very core and settles in your limbs so heavily it feels like every action takes all the strength you have. The kind that leaves you sore and drained and alone. There’s a droop to Gordons eyelids, a listlessness in how he moves his limbs, a spark that Tommy’s come to expect from him missing in his eyes. Something tightens in his throat as he stands there, utterly still, watching the way Gordon leans heavily onto the countertop in front of him with a sinking sensation in his throat.

It feels wrong, to be watching him like this. Like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t- and really, everything in him says to turn back to the room he’s staying in and act like this never happened. But he _can’t_ , legs frozen in place as he just stares.

Is this wrong? This feels wrong. It feels so wrong, looking on in a strange sense of shock as Gordon just doesn’t move from where he’s got his head in his hands, like any moment now he’s going to be spotted and Gordon will be angry and yell at him for staring at him like this and tell him to get out of his house, but no matter what he thinks he just… can’t move.

It’s only when Gordons shoulders start to shake, his hands curling tightly- _too tight, he’s going to hurt himself_ \- in his hair that Tommy manages anything at all, a weak sound of concern slipping from his throat as his heart sinks.

Gordon’s head shoots up from where he’s been holding it on the counter- and oh, it’s so painfully obvious that he’s been crying. Tommy feels his heart drop even further. Forget his stomach- that thing is in the centre of the earth by now with how bad he feels.

“T-Tommy?” Gordon stammers, and, well, at least he doesn’t sound mad. “What- what are you doing up, man, it’s late!”

His chest squeezes with worry, the way it so often does around Gordon, and he feels himself step forward out of the shadows. He can’t help but give the man a once-over, gaze catching on the red around Gordon’s eyes, the nearly purple bags underneath, the way he can’t quite seem to get himself upright and chipper no matter how hard he tries. Gordon’s never been a very good actor, after all.

“You’re… you’re up too.” He mutters unhelpfully, hands poised awkwardly in front of his chest the way they always seem to end up when he doesn’t know what to do with them. God, Gordon just looks so _sad_ , eyes averted with a weak attempt at a smile on his lips. It hurts, because he knows what a real smile looks like on Gordon’s face- it’s wide, and bright, and so goddamn beautiful it makes his heart ache, genuinely happy and unfiltered and lovely- and this is so far from that.

There are tears on his face. There’s nothing Tommy wants more than to wipe them away.

“Guess I am, huh?” Gordon manages, the corners of his mouth twitching like every word is a struggle, his voice tight and trembling slightly at the end. “That’s- that’s funny. H-haha.”

Tommy feels frozen as he stands there, words on the tip of his tongue that just won’t come out- _It’s okay_ or _I’m here for you_ or _It’s okay to be hurting._ Anything but this awful silence that’s clogging up his throat and making him useless. He can’t move. He can’t do _anything_.

The tension holding him back, as if by some sort of string, snaps as soon as another tear traces its way down Gordon’s exhausted face.

He moves forward without thinking, worry overwhelming his senses in a blur as he finds himself wrapping his arms around Gordon- softly, so carefully, like even in this frenzied blur of concern he still feels like he might break Gordon if he isn’t careful. 

When his senses come whizzing back, so fast it’s dizzying, he freezes again. _Fuck. Fuck, he shouldn’t have done that, he should have asked, held his hand instead, done something else-_

He nearly short circuits when Gordon, still and heavy against his chest, grabs hold of his shirt and pulls him closer. He buries his face in Tommy’s shoulder as he clings, fists balled in the fabric of his shirt in a way he _knows_ is going to wrinkle the starchy cotton horribly, but he doesn’t give a shit. Not right now. Not when Gordon is holding onto him like his life depends on it, trembling like Tommy is the only thing keeping him upright- and maybe he is. Not when Gordon’s babbling something barely comprehensible aside from desperate _thank you’s_ and _I’m sorry’s_ , his voice small and desperate and so achingly sad that Tommy just wants to wrap him up and hold him like this forever, until he stops feeling like this, until he never has to feel this awful again. Not when he can feel the way Gordon starts to honest-to-god _sob_ , words falling away to whimpers and hot, wet tears that are soaking into his shirt like there’s no tomorrow.

Tommy almost finds himself crying- but he can’t do that right now. Later, maybe- but right now he’s Gordon’s rock, his anchor, a place of respite. Gordon’s trusting him to be that- and Gordon Freeman’s trust is not something he’s about to break.

He holds Gordon a little closer, a little tighter, starting to mumble words of comfort without even thinking about it. Really, he’s barely aware of what he’s saying, so lost in the delicate way he’s petting Gordon’s hair in an attempt at soothing him. 

It’s painfully soft under his hands. He wishes so badly (so, so badly) that the situation was anything but this.

“I- I’m sorry, Tommy-” Gordon chokes out through another round of tears, and a gut wrenching feeling settles in the pit of Tommy’s stomach. It hurts, it fucking hurts, to see him like this.

“Don’t apologize.” He manages to mumble, a hand settling on the back of the other man’s head in a way he hopes is comforting. His hands feel so clumsy right now, like they’re moving all wrong, but the way Gordon seems to unwind just a little of that tension he holds so tightly in his shoulders must mean he’s doing _something_ right.

Gordon shudders in his arms, and all Tommy wants in that moment is to wipe this all away, keep him safe forever. Protect him the way it seems like he’s never been protected. Be the person he comes to when he feels like this instead of trying to comfort himself alone.

Even wrapped up in Tommy's arms, he still looks like he’s trying to soothe himself, like no one’s going to help him, and it makes his heart shatter all over again.

“I’ve got you,” He whispers- and he does. He always will. 

No matter what happens, Tommy’s going to keep him safe.

\---

Gordon does manage to come down eventually, his desperate sobs petering off to a gentle tremble in his shoulders, slumped almost entirely against Tommy with his chest rising slowly up and down. He looks almost peaceful, face still buried in Tommy’s shoulder with no indication that he plans on moving anytime soon- and Tommy finds he has little to no intention of asking him to.

...That said, standing up like this is starting to feel a little awkward.

“Hey, Mr. Freeman?” He asks, voice as soft as he can make it without slipping into a whisper. “Do you... think we could move to the couch?”

Gordon lifts his head up with what seems like a not insignificant amount of effort, eyes red and puffy and so deeply fatigued that Tommy feels bad asking him to move. Nonetheless, Gordon nods, his face listless and streaked with tears, but still a far cry from the despondent state he’d been in before.

He feels Gordon slump back into his shoulder more than he sees it, though he does watch as the other man lets his head fall back into the spot it had been resting in. The impact makes him exhale softly, both with the way his skull makes contact with Tommy’s shoulder, and the abrupt awareness of just how _close_ they are. His head feels fuzzy with it, all of a sudden, the way Gordon is leaning against him burning hotter than the sun.

Focus, Tommy, _focus_ . You’re here to help him, to be a good friend, make him feel better as much as you can- _not_ to get hung up on just how warm he is pressed up against you like this. Fuck. Back on track, starting… now.

It hits him that Gordon, well- he probably isn’t in the best state to walk, if the way he’s relying on Tommy to hold almost all of his weight up is any indication. God, he really is tired, huh? It’s been obvious this entire time, sure, but it’s a physical reminder that really settles in deep, that flower of worry he can’t seem to stop nursing when it comes to Gordon blooming just a little more in his chest.

An idea strikes him as he stands there, a hand resting softly against the back of Gordon’s head, and he almost smiles. That… that could work.

“...Mr. Freeman?” He asks quietly, a soft expression on his face, just barely edged with anxiety. “Do you trust me?”  
  
Gordon’s silent for a horrible, heart wrenching moment. It almost seems like time stops, Tommy’s breath catching in his throat as he waits. And waits. And waits, time stretching out of shape in a way that makes it feel agonizingly longer than he knows it really is. Things move strangely, for him, they always have, but he feels choked up this time around.

It’s a painful second more before Gordon looks up at him from under his chin, expression so clear and warm and heartfelt that he feels all choked up for a whole different set of reasons. 

“Yeah. Always.”

Oh. Oh god. How does Gordon expect him to function when he goes and says things like _that?_ His head feels like it’s spinning, feet off the ground, the world a haze of distant ideas and the person in his arms. It throws him so terribly off balance that he nearly forgets why he’d asked that at all.

“O-Okay!” He squeaks, praying the knot of messy, honey sweet feelings in his throat doesn’t show on his face. It takes so much not to let everything come spilling out right there, but instead he manages “I… I’m glad.”

Inhaling softly, he smiles awkwardly down at Gordon, the other man's head still craned to look at him with half lidded, sleepy eyes, “Just- just, um, hang on, okay?”

Gordon nods- and, well, that’s as good a sign as any to go for it, right?  
  
Without stopping to overthink it, (as if he hasn’t overthought every aspect of this to hell and back already) he tucks a hand behind Gordons knees, shifting to stand beside him rather than in front of him. Tommy’s arm slides quickly around his back as he lowers himself to lift, pulling Gordon up into a comfortable bridal carry, leaning heavily against Tommy’s chest. And he’s only manipulating gravity a _little_ bit to do it.

It feels right- Gordon a solid weight in his arms and looking surprisingly okay with the whole thing. He tucks his face into the crook of Tommy’s neck almost immediately, sure, but Gordon’s a vocal guy. If he had a problem with this, he’d say so- and the way he’s hanging onto Tommy’s shirt is far from the sort of thing he’d do if he were uncomfortable. It’s… honestly adorable. But then again, there are very few things Gordon does that aren’t.

He heads off out of the kitchen, careful to watch where he steps in the dimly lit apartment with Gordon nestled so carefully in his arms. Can’t be too cautious, his footfalls soft in the late night silence. It’s easy in a way he didn’t expect.

The trip from the kitchen to the couch is painfully short, Tommy’s heart squeezing with a sort of longing feeling he doesn’t know what to do with as he lays Gordon down on the cushions so, so carefully. He misses the warmth already.

Gordon flashes him something that could almost be a smile as he settles back against the arm of the couch, and it almost makes him forget.

Tommy coughs into his fist, breaking eye contact as he sits down cross-legged next to Gordon with a too-straight set to his posture. He sways, softly, head bobbing from side to side as he gives Gordon a look, thoughts stuck in his throat until they aren’t. 

“Are… are you feeling any better?” He blurts as his words come back to him, picking at the seam of his pants. He just can’t help but ask, concern coiling in his stomach all over again.

Gordon seems to mull it over for a second, knees tucked to his chest as he fumbles with a blanket he’s grabbed from the top of the couch. 

“I- um, I think so?” His voice comes out small, the sound raspy and slightly hoarse from crying. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

Shaking his head, Tommy leans an inch or two closer without meaning to. “N-no! Don’t, don’t apologize- _please_ don’t apologize.” His tone borders on desperate, eyebrows furrowing. “You- you needed that.” He says firmly, before his voice softens, carefully placing a hand on Gordon’s knee. “Do you… know what, um, caused it? Y-you don’t have to tell me.”

Gordon pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he glances away. “I… I dropped a bowl.”  
  
Tommy nods in a way he hopes is sympathetic, squeezing Gordon’s knee as carefully as he can. Delicate. He’s fragile right now. Needs to be handled with care. He can do that.

“It- god, it wasn’t that.” He wheezes a poor approximation of a laugh, laying his own hand over Tommy’s as he curls in on himself. “That’s just what started it.”

“Y-yeah?” 

“Yeah. I- god, Tommy, it’s _everything_ .” Gordon shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. It’s loose around his shoulders. Tommy doesn’t know how he managed to overlook that. “Fuck, I- I can’t stop thinking about it, alright? I can’t sleep and I’m so scared that shit’s gonna go wrong again and I don’t know what I’m doing- I _never_ do! I- god, I never did.” He rubs a hand under his eye, dragging across tear tracks as he stares down at his lap. “...Do you ever feel like the world’s one little mistake from falling apart around your ears?”

Tommy shifts just a little closer, his chest constricting with near painful sympathy.

“Yeah. I… I know what you mean, Mr. Freeman.”  
  
“Gordon.” He replies, eyes snapping up to meet Tommy’s for the first time since they made it to the couch.

“Uh.” Tommy says eloquently, blinking in response.

“I- call me Gordon, okay?” He doesn’t look away, gaze serious and holding a sort of weight that pins Tommy in place. “You don’t- you don’t need to be so formal, man. Fuck, I mean- we live together now! It just feels… weird. When you call me that,”

He blinks, free hand stilling in his lap. Huh. That’s… okay. He can do that.

“...Gordon.” He replies, just stiff enough to sound awkward. And oh, isn’t that a nice sound on his lips, rolling off the tongue just right despite his stilted delivery. “Gordon.” He tries again. “Gordon.”

Gordon practically beams in response, a touch of humour in his eyes. “Tommy.”

He can’t quite stifle a giggle, rocking back and forth just slightly. “G-Gordon.”  
  
“Tommy.” 

“Gordon.”  
  


“Tommy”  
  
“Gordon.”   
  
“T- okay, this is getting ridiculous.”

Tommy can’t help the laugh he lets out at that, ducking his head and covering it with his free hand. There’s just something about sitting on the couch at some ungodly hour of the night like this after an emotionally charged moment that’s left him giggly as hell. 

When Gordon starts to laugh too, a soft chuckle turning into a full blown fit of laughter as he leans into Tommy’s shoulder, he can feel his poor heart stop. 

When did they even get so close to each other? He swears they were at least a few inches apart before- but Gordon’s pressed up against his side, practically cackling at almost nothing with his pretty, pretty hair hanging all around his face in a way that frames it so nicely it’s just plain unfair. He’s still laughing too, unable to stop the flow of mirth now that it’s started, but his eyes are fixed on Gordon’s face- eyes screwed shut, still flushed from crying, blunt canines bared in a grin and nose crinkling in a way he can’t help but find adorable- and he feels his cheeks flood with unwanted colour. This kind of thing can’t keep happening. He well and truly _cannot_ fucking take it.

“That’s- _fuck-_ that’s not even that funny-” Gordon wheezes as his peals of laughter slow, squeezing Tommy’s hand where it’s still resting stiffly on his knee. “Guess everything’s funny after- after a breakdown.”

Tommy half smiles even as his brain short circuits at the contact. “Y-yeah. I guess so.”  
  
He pauses, the aftershocks of laughter still hanging in the air. It’s good, seeing Gordon like this- he looks like himself, not like a shallow attempt at who he thinks he ought to be. His stomach doesn’t feel quite so unsettled with worry when he looks at him, relief bleeding through his limbs as he settles back into the couch.

“H-hey, Gordon?” He asks, shifting his gaze with a soft expression.

Gordon blinks, cocking his head as he looks up to meet Tommy’s eyes. He still looks tired- but the terrifying hopelessness he’d seen maybe half an hour before seems to have receded. “Huh? What’s up, bud?”  
  
“You… you know I’m, um, here for you right?” He manages, voice clear even as he falters for a split second. “You- things are hard. And you, you don't have to b-be alone.”

That earns him a wide eyed look of surprise, Gordon’s expression fading to a genuine gratefulness that makes his stomach flip. “...Thanks, Tommy. You’re a great friend, you know that?”  
  
His heart flutters weakly in his chest, warmth blossoming even as he swallows down the twinge of disappointment that comes with the word ‘friend’. Squeezing Gordon’s hand where his own is still resting on the other man’s knee, he smiles, giddy and wistful and so, so tired all at once. Gordon just keeps looking at him.

He’s so lovely. Tommy feels like he might fall to pieces.

“I-it’s no problem.”

\---

Tommy’s about five seconds away from exploding.

Honest to god, he might just combust. The longer he lives here, the touchier Gordon seems to get- the guy is tactile, he understands that, and the lingering way he puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, or touches his hair, or straightens the collar of his shirt from time to time doesn’t _mean_ anything. It’s just Gordon being Gordon, being himself, and while he wouldn’t trade that for the world it’s still driving him up the wall with longing he can’t seem to stifle no matter how hard he tries.

He thinks about it, sometimes. Conjures up images of Gordon’s hands in his, on his shoulders, cupping his face so carefully as he leans in and-

Tommy shakes his head as violently as he possibly can, balled fists slamming against the mattress underneath him. That is the opposite of what he should be thinking about right now, thank you! He’s meant to be getting his mind _off_ the things he desperately wants and knows he’ll never be lucky enough to have!

He flops back on his bed with an exhausted sigh, arms spread wide. And yeah, sure, maybe he does think of it as his bed and not the guest bed anymore. The perks of staying here far longer than he actually expected to be allowed to. It’s comfortable, and familiar now, and well and truly starting to feel like his own.

Tommy buries his face in his hands. God. He needs to get out more.

...Actually, that gives him an idea.

Sitting nearly bolt upright, he snatches his phone from his pocket, fumbling slightly as he turns it on and flicks through to his contacts as quickly as he can manage. He scans the list, landing on one almost immediately and clicking into their messages with a half smile, jotting down a short little message and hitting send.

**TOMMY:** hey!! sorry to text you out of the blue but are you maybe free?   
  
He feels oddly nervous all of a sudden, a jolt of anxiety in his stomach as the telltale three dots pop up on the opposite side of the screen.

**DARNOLD:** Sure am! Why do you ask?

Though he’s not entirely sure why, Tommy breathes a sigh of relief, finger flying across the digital keyboard.

**TOMMY:** oh nothing too big!! just wondering if you want to hang out somewhere?

**DARNOLD:** You caught me at a good time!  
  
 **DARNOLD:** I just finished up with an experiment. Where were you thinking of 

going?

Hm. That’s a good question- and one he somehow hadn’t considered at all beforehand. He pauses for a moment, his phone resting on his thighs with the message app still open, biting the inside of his cheek before he taps out a reply.

**TOMMY** : we could go for ice cream?   
  


There’s a short pause before Darnold responds, but the anxiety doesn’t coil nearly as tight this time around.

**DARNOLD:** Sounds good! I know a great little shop out near where I live.

**DARNOLD:** I can come pick you up in… 20 minutes?   
  


**DARNOLD:** You’re still living with Gordon, right?   
  
Tommy flushes slightly, turning that last sentence over in his head entirely too many times.

**TOMMY:** yup!

**TOMMY:** see you soon?

**DARNOLD:** See you soon!

Well. That’s that on that. Honestly, he’s just glad for the chance to hang out with his friend.

\---

It’s not long before Darnold picks him up, the drive from Gordon’s apartment out to the ice cream parlour Darnold had mentioned flying by in a blur that Tommy would be hard pressed to remember anything from. Really, he comes to his senses when the car pulls into a small set of parking spaces, the driver's side door clicking open. He shakes his head, opening his own door with vigour and stepping out onto the pavement with a half-smile and a stretch of his arms above his head. The air is warm, a soft breeze rustling the fabric of his shirt as Darnold rounds the corner of the car, smiling up at him with a wink.

“Just like old times, huh?”

Tommy snorts as he rolls his eyes, shoving Darnold with no real force. “M-maybe so. Now let's get some ice cream, you- you dork.”

Darnold laughs at that, hands in the pockets of his heavy, pale brown jacket. He’s always had a taste for more vintage fashions- lately, it’s been the 50’s, but Tommy remembers his fixation on the 1980’s like it was yesterday. Muted colours do suit him more than the flashy shades of red he used to favour when they dated- though really, he doesn’t give a shit so long as Darnold is having a good time.

“Yeah. Ice cream! I promise, you’re gonna love this place- I’ve never had a better scoop of rocky road.” He waves Tommy towards the shop as he hops the curb, well polished shoes scuffing on the sidewalk.

“Coming!” He replies, closing the gap between them effortlessly and speeding towards the door to hold it open for the both of them. Darnold brings out his flair for the dramatic, he’s found, bowing with a wry smile as he gestures inside. “A-after you.”

That earns him a chuckle and a roll of the eyes, Darnold, breezing past him with the same overperformed, joking air, hands poised as he steps inside. “Why, thank you!”  
  
Tommy can’t help but giggle, ducking in the door behind his friend and letting it hiss shut. The tile floor of the shop squeaks briefly under his sneakers and he winces, making a note to watch how he steps. Darnold turns back to face him, a look of sympathy at the sound that quickly fades to a genuine grin.

“It’s great to see you, Tommy, really. It’s been a while since we had a day like this!” He clasps his hands in front of his chest for a moment, before shaking his head and walking off towards the counter with a half baked beckoning motion. “We ought to buy some of what they’re selling, huh? Come on!”

Enthusiastic as ever. It’s infectious, though, and he smiles without thinking about it as he stands behind Darnold in line.

He walks away from the counter with a generous scoop of neapolitan ice cream in a cardboard bowl that Darnold _insisted_ on paying for, no matter how much he complained. Too nice, just like he always has been. But hey, Tommy’s not exactly going to turn down ice cream, no matter how flustered he might be.

Darnold slides into a vintage styled chair, gesturing for Tommy to sit across from him. He’s got a bowl of his own, a small plastic spoon already stuck into the frozen dessert inside. He can’t quite tell, but it looks like a mix of rocky road and something with caramel in it. Sitting down in the chair he’d been ushered toward, Tommy smiles as he brushes a hand over the faux leather cushion. This place appeals to Darnolds tastes in more ways than one, apparently- he can’t help but notice the vintage styled interior design all around them. The checkered floor, the pale pink walls, the barstools and uniforms… it’s pretty. Never really been his scene, but if Darnold likes it, he likes it just fine too.

The man in question pipes up from across the table, gesturing to Tommy with his spoon and a sparkle in his eye. “So! What have you been up to since… everything?” He smiles, popping the utensil back in his bowl and leaning his chin on the heel of his hand. “I haven’t seen you for a bit. Fill me in!”

That’s a loaded question if he’s ever heard one.

Technically, Tommy really hasn’t been doing that much. Puttering around an apartment, looking for a job with no real success, pining hopelessly for his closest friend who he can never get a proper read on with all his idiosyncrasies- all pretty standard stuff, really. But despite that, it still feels heavy, like there's too much on the tip of his tongue and not enough time to share it all. Things are just… complicated. He doesn’t like complicated. It makes his head spin.

“...Tommy?” Darnold asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You alright there?”  
  
He shakes his head in an attempt to recalibrate, scrambling to pick up his hat from the floor when it flies off his head. 

“Wh- yeah! Everythings fine!” His words are slightly less convincing when he’s slamming a propellor cap back onto his head with an awkward smile, he finds. Tommy pops a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and tries not to think about it.

Unsurprisingly, Darnold doesn’t seem convinced, leaning forward with an air of concern about him. “Is something wrong?”  
  
Tommy sighs, swallowing a too-cold morsel and setting his spoon back down. “I- I’m fine. Just- I’m just, um…”

He trails off for a moment, nails tapping on the side of his bowl as he mulls his words over, his tongue feeling heavy and useless in his mouth. Darnold, thankfully, doesn’t push. He gets it the way only a few people do.

The way Gordon does.

Tommy chokes on nothing, eyes widening as he coughs into his fist. Oh. _Oh_ . That’s why it’s so hard to talk about. It’s all Gordon, all the way down. _Fuck._

“You’re- Tommy, you’re bright red! Seriously, is everything okay?” Darnolds voice cuts through his thoughts, clear and concerned as he snaps his eyes up and finds his friend leaning almost halfway over the table. His eyebrows are furrowed, confusion with just the barest hint of what looks like consideration evident on his face. It’s the face he makes when he has a theory. When he’s gathering data. Tommy doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Fine! All- all good!” His voice cracks on the uptick, still coughing slightly as he speaks. “Just, um- had a thought that was a- a little out of left field!”

Darnold doesn’t move, looking at him for a moment more, still doubled over the table. His bowl sits abandoned to the side, rocky road melting quicker than caramel.

“This is about Gordon, isn’t it?”

Oh. Well then.

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, eyes wide with borderline shock, and finds his words lacking. More than that, actually- all he manages is a squeak, face flushing even darker.

“I knew it!” Darnold crows, sitting back in his chair with a wide smile. “I _knew_ you had a thing for him! You kept giving him these looks when you were in my lab during the, uh, incident- and I thought to myself, ‘oh, looks like Tommy might have a crush!’ And you do, don’t you?”

He pauses, giving Tommy a once over with his eyes, raising an eyebrow in a way that makes him just want to melt into the chair he’s sitting in. “Actually- looks like it might be a little more than that, huh?”

Tommy groans, covering his face with his hands for a brief moment before he looks Darnold dead in the eyes. “It’s- it’s not really a b-big deal! You’re overblowing this, really-”  
  
Darnold’s grin grows a little wider, cupping his ice cream in his hands with excitement. “You’re not denying it!”   
  


He’s going to fucking combust. This just might kill him.

Letting out another sound of distress, Tommy lets his face fall to the table, forehead thunking against the polished surface as he buries his hands in his hair. “Cr-crushes are normal, it’s _okay!_ ”

He feels a hand on his arm, gentle as it gives him a pat or two. “Tommy. Tommy, you wouldn’t be screaming into the tabletop if this was just puppy love.”

Goddamnit. Why does Darnold have to be right all the time?  
  
“I- I just-” He pushes himself up off the table with another groan, cheeks burning so hot he feels like they might catch fire as he flicks his gaze up to meet Darnolds. “-it’s not like- like he feels the same, s-so why… talk about it? It’s fine.”   
  
Darnold gives him a look, long and studious as he swallows a mouthful of ice cream as thoughtfully as he can possibly muster, setting the spoon down as he laces his fingers together under his chin.

“Tommy.” He starts, tone even and calm. “Are you fucking serious.”

… He’d really like to know why those five words felt like getting clocked in the jaw.

Tommy sputters, mouth opening and closing rapidly as he folds his arms defensively over his chest. “I- I don’t know what you, what you’re trying to say!”  
  
Darnold waves a hand with a vague sense of urgency, like there’s something obvious that’s managed to elude him, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. “First of all- what does that matter? You could always confess to him anyway. But- okay, Tommy, listen to me- you’re doing the thing again.”

He falters. “The thing?”  
  
Darnold nods, almost vigorously. “Yeah- the _thing_. The thing where you go and convince yourself that things are a certain way and forget to look at it from any other angle.” He takes another spoonful of slowly melting ice cream, doing his best not to speak with his mouth full. “It’s not a great habit.”

...Okay. He might have a bit of a point there. “That- that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t feel the same!”

Darnold raises an eyebrow, plastic spoon held delicately between his fingers. “Are you sure?”  
  
The only response Tommy can conjure up to that is a baffled stare.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” He slides the bowl off to the right, talking with his hands the way he always seems to when he’s dead set on something. “I mean, I didn’t even talk to Gordon for very long, but anyone could tell he cares about you an awful lot! More than you’d usually care about a person you’ve known for a week. He let you into his home, didn’t he?” Darnold shrugs, fixing Tommy with a look that he can’t squirm out from under. “I think there’s something there, is all I’m saying. And you shouldn’t throw it away just because you’ve convinced yourself he’s something you can’t have.”

Oh.

Well. Now he just feels ridiculous. And full of desperate longing. And a little like he’s about to cry.

Darnold takes one look at him and stands up, shuffling around to Tommy’s end of the table to wrap him up in a brief, tight hug. The guy’s never really been one for contact like this, and the fact that he’s holding him at all is making Tommy’s brain pump out even more messy emotional signals than before, a tear that he does his best to ignore tracing it’s way down his cheek. When he pulls away, Tommy wipes his eyes, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

“...Look. I’m not saying you have to tell him right away.” Darnold says softly, slipping back into his chair and leaning forward on the table with half steepled fingers and an expression of genuine sympathy. “Just… let him know soon, okay? It’s tearing you up, I can tell- and who knows! Maybe it’ll go better than you expect.” He pauses, smiling wryly. “I think it’ll go _much_ better than you think. Have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?”

Tommy nearly chokes on the ice cream he’d abruptly decided to start eating again.

“Wh- How- I, um, pardon me?” He stammers, face starting to feel red. Not again.

Darnold waves a hand dismissively, though the smile that borders on a smirk doesn’t leave his face. “Nothing, nothing.” 

He mellows out a moment later, expression shifting to something warm and understanding and ever so slightly concerned. “But really, Tommy. _Tell him_. You need the catharsis, and he ought to know.”

Tommy nods, slowly, a sort of relief dawning on him that he doesn’t quite understand. Somehow, though- this is good. He knows it's good. He needed this.

His hands settle in his lap as he struggles with his words, thank you somehow not seeming quite right, but also all he can some up with. Simplicity might be best sometimes, but maybe not right now. Not when Darnold somehow managed to pull him from his strange state of inbetween and point him in the right direction with a good reason to go that way. He’s always been good at that. Always been a good friend.

“...Thank you.” He blurts anyway, mouth filling the silence on impulse even if it doesn’t feel like enough. “S-so much. Really.”  
  
Darnold smiles, patting Tommy’s forearm as he picks up his spoon again. “It’s no problem. _Really_.”

\---

Really, things would be so much easier if Tommy wasn’t such a coward.

...Alright, maybe he’s not being strictly fair to himself. Emotions have never been his strong suit, after all. They’re unpredictable and messy and swirl around him in a cloud he can’t make sense of most of the time. He’s good with other people’s feelings, sure- but that’s _different_ . That’s _data_. That’s something he can look at from the outside and understand without the added confusing layer of having it all inside him, colouring his viewpoint to the point of unreliability. He can help other people with things like this, but he sure as hell can’t help himself.

It doesn’t make matters any better that he’s not exactly experienced with romance, either. There's a script to these things, he’s sure, but he feels like he’s been thrown into a full blown stage production without ever having the chance to learn his lines. He’s flying blind, and it _terrifies_ him.

Gordon deserves better than this. Better than him.

Tommy smacks the heel of his hand into his forehead the instant that thought pops into his head, letting out a small sound of frustration on impact. He’s not going to do that. Self deprecation never got him anywhere when he was younger, it won’t get him anywhere now.

He can’t keep sitting around like this. All his thoughts keep swirling around in his head, all over the place and making him feel dizzy with emotions he can’t even put a name to. It’s so much. It’s _too_ much.

...He needs to tell Gordon.

Acknowledging it is a step in the right direction, at least. Tommy sighs, dragging his hands down his face as he turns on his heel, pacing circles into the poorly aligned hardwood floor beneath his feet. Whoever installed this did a terrible job- if he steps in the wrong place, the board shifts with no warning. Even after months living here- and god, isn’t that a thought, he’s been here for _months_ instead of the week or two (at best) that he’d expected- it still catches him off guard if he isn’t careful.

_Darnold was right_ , he thinks as he walks faster and faster. Darnold’s always right. This whole thing with Gordon is tearing him in two.

He just- he doesn’t know where the lines are. Doesn’t know what’s just Gordon being himself and what might be an attempt at flirting- if he’s flirting at all. That could always just be wishful thinking he’s gone and convinced himself is a reality- and there it is again! Things are so fucking _confusing_! Gordon likes contact, but only when he’s the one to initiate it. He’ll be affectionate with words and actions alike, tell Tommy he cares about him, touches him more times than he could possibly count, but practically recoils when Tommy tries to do the same. Sometimes, late at night, they end up so close together that Tommy swears that they might finally do it, bridge the tenuous gap of messy will-they won’t-they bullshit they’ve been standing on opposite sides of for so long- but they never do. Never. And Gordon’s always the one to pull away.

Tommy wants to scream until his lungs collapse. Nothing can just be straightforward, can it? Not with them. Not with Gordon. And even with the way all this makes his head spin, makes him want to punch a wall sometimes, makes him feel like he might explode with all the mixed signals he can’t make sense of no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t get the guy off his mind.

He needs to tell him. He has to tell him, and damn the consequences.

...But maybe he’ll wait just a little longer first.

\---

Just a little longer turns into a week. And then two. And then two and a half. And then- well, it just keeps going.

It just never seems like the right _time_ , is all! Love confessions are supposed to be grand, near spectacular things- or if you don’t go in for that, shared in saccharine-sweet moments of closeness, intimacy pushing just over that platonic line in the sand into love.

The main problem is, well… he’s been avoiding Gordon.

It’s not on purpose, really! Or at least it wasn’t at first. It just felt weird to be talking to Gordon like he wasn’t desperately trying to work up the nerve to say ‘ _Hey, I’m hopelessly in love with everything about you’_! So he just sort of… stopped. Only until he worked out a good time, he told himself, but… well. That didn’t quite work out the way he’d planned.

He’s pacing again. But can you blame him? It’s been nearly a month of this, for fucks sake. He can’t keep dancing around his roommate, his _best friend_ , like an awkward and poorly timed game of chess. It’s like he’s running in circles with his thoughts, a dog chasing its tail. It’s tiring- but he doesn’t know what else to do. After all, just sitting Gordon down like it’s a transaction or something feels wrong, but looking for an organic moment is killing him, and no matter the scenario he’s still about as articulate with his emotions as a kids toy with three prerecorded voice lines.

His metaphors are getting strange. Maybe he ought to sit down.

Tommy gets about halfway to doing that, stopping dead in his tracks as he paces and turning on his heel towards his bed- before a knock at the door comes, nearly making him slip and collapse onto the ground. Graceful. Coordinated. He has great balance, thank you. He’s not particularly proud of the yelp that escapes him as he regains his footing, though.

Reaching for the collar of his recently-ironed yellow button up, Tommy turns towards the door with a barely even miffed huff of breath. Startled, really, that’s all. No hard feelings, even if he does think he might have pulled something in his right leg.

“U-uhm! What… what do you want?” He cringes at the way his words come out, stilted in a strange way and harsher than he meant them to be. 

Gordon’s voice comes through the door loud and clear. “Just wanted to-” He trails off, before picking right back up with equal enthusiasm. “-actually, can I open this?”

Tommy turns the thought over in his head with a hesitant nod. Sure. Sure he can. They need to talk anyway- can’t dodge this forever, and all that, everything he was just telling himself. Besides, if Gordon is still seeking him out, reaching through the fog even when Tommy’s been pulling away, maybe there really is something here. Maybe it’s more than a hopeful fantasy.

It takes a long, stretched out second of awkward silence for him to realize that Gordon can’t see him nodding through the door.

“I- Yes! Yeah, you can come- come in.” His voice cracks slightly, pitched up with embarrassment. Suave, Tommy. Really making a good impression tonight.

“Thanks, man.” He hears from the hallway as the door swishes quickly open, Gordon’s movements as full of energy as ever. It’s cute. He’s abruptly reminded of how badly his brain shorts out around this boy- avoiding him might have been stupid, but it’s hard to do anything _smart_ around Gordon. He just… does something to Tommy. Makes him impulsive and giddy and flustered at the littlest things.

Oh. Oh, Gordon’s looking up at him expectantly. It rapidly dawns on him that he hasn’t actually been listening to anything that’s been said.

He raises a finger awkwardly, a sheepish smile on his face. “C-Come again?”

Gordon just rolls his eyes with a smile- no malice in it. Just the barest hint of amusement. “I asked if you wanted to watch a movie tonight, that’s all!” He pauses- not quite wringing his hands together, but close enough- wearing an expression that just borders on nervous. “I-I mean- if you want to. I know you’ve been sort of busy lately.”

Tommy feels a twinge of guilt in his chest, heart seizing up for a moment. Sure. Busy.

“I- um, I-” Hesitation flies to the forefront of his mind once again, words catching in his throat before he forces them out, voice just a little too loud. “-yes! Yes. I’d… I’d like to.”

The way Gordon’s face lights up, eyes shining with delight and mouth curled into a pretty, pretty smile is something Tommy thinks he’d go through hell and back just to see again.

He claps his hands together in front of him as he beams, Tommy’s head still spinning from the fresh wash of affection that weeks of distance might have only made more potent. “That’s- hell yeah, man, that’s great! I can make pizza, and we can get started in…” Gordon glances down at his watch, lips pursed in a frankly adorable show of concentration. “...an hour or so! That sound good to you?”

Tommy nods with a smile of his own, sure that Gordon can actually see it this time. No words, not now- his tongue feels heavy in his mouth, weighed down with horribly sappy sentiments and lovestruck confessions and everything else he’s been shoving down for the past however long. He doesn’t trust his mouth not to spill everything the first chance it gets.

Gordon’s not deterred, bouncing on his heels with his hands still in front of his chest. “Got it! I’ll get right on that pizza.”

He turns quickly, almost jogging down the hall before shouting distantly, like he had something he wanted to say and forgot. “I’ll call you when it’s ready!” He bellows, and Tommy can’t help but laugh.

God, what did he just agree to?

\---

Waiting… waiting is hell.

An hour really isn’t that long, all things considered. Especially not to someone who’s seen all of time in its entirety and came out the other side thoroughly underwhelmed. But sitting in his room, too anxious to really do anything but stare at his hands and chew on one of his rubber bracelets, it feels like those sixty minutes stretch forever just to spite him. It’s agonizing.

He practically jumps out of his skin when Gordon’s voice rings out from down the hallway, his heart beating faster for a split second.

“Coming!” He calls in response, trying to sound self-assured and like he hasn’t been sitting here consumed by a disastrous blend of anxiety and wishful, rose coloured daydreams.

Tommy sighs, sliding his bracelet back on and smoothing down his pants. One of these days, the torch he carries for this man is going to burn him, inside and out.

He swallows down the idea that maybe it already has.

Bad thoughts, he thinks to himself as he ducks out of his room, gently shutting the door behind him. Not the thoughts he should be having right now. Right now, he’s going to watch a movie with his friend, eat some pizza, and have a good time. This mess can wait until _after_ all of that.

Tommy rounds the corner out of the hallway and into the kitchen, greeted by the sight of Gordon pulling a pan out of the oven. He doesn’t seem to notice that anyone else is there with him for a minute, fumbling with the baking sheet he’d apparently decided to bake the pizza on. Hey, he’s never made one- maybe that’s how you do it? Either way he’s not going to judge.

Gordon seems to pick up on his presence suddenly, head jerking towards Tommy with a quickly growing smile. “Hey! Just give me a sec, I need to- y’know.” Gesturing to the pan in his hand, he sets it down on the stovetop, brushing his oven-mitt clad hands together in satisfaction. “You said you like plain cheese on your pizza, right?”

Tommy blinks, nodding slowly. “I- Yeah.”

He pauses for a second, shaking his head in confusion as a thought dawns on him. “Hey- I, I only mentioned that once! At- at Chuck E. Cheese! You, um… remembered?”  
  


That only gets him an incredulous look, like Gordon’s baffled he asked. “Yeah- of course I did! Why wouldn’t I?”

Wow. Alright. Add ‘memorizing what he likes on pizza after being told once’ to the list of little things Gordon does that are going to make Tommy combust. This just isn’t fair.

Tommy can’t make his mouth say anything more, instead opting to nod, flinging open the fridge to hide the flush he’s almost certain is rising on his cheeks. He’s lost his tolerance to these things after spending so long apart- the result of his folly, he supposes. Fuck.

Soda. His hand closes around a can of Diet Coke, because Gordon remembered he likes the taste of that better than the regular stuff. Soda can solve anything- he hopes.

He pokes his head back out over the fridge door, watching as Gordon spins the pizza wheel like a fidget toy and feels an incredible surge of anxiety, nearly rushing over to stop him, before he starts to use it as intended. Maybe he’s just jumpy, he thinks as he relaxes, or maybe Gordon is horribly reckless even in the little details. The world may never know.

“Um- can I help out? At- at all?”

Gordon looks up from the pizza at that, smiling softly as he registers the question. “Yeah, actually- could you set some dishes out on the coffee table? We’re gonna need some plates and… y’know. And such.”

He knows. He gets it. They’ve fallen into a sort of routine over time, working around each other near seamlessly most days. Gordon handles food, Tommy sets out the dishes. Tommy wakes up two hours earlier than Gordon usually and he’s supposed to wake him up if he’s asleep past eleven in the morning. The only flavour of toothpaste Tommy can handle is tutti frutti. Gordon’s sinuses get aggravated by rose scents. Neither of them like game shows, but they watch them in the middle of the day and laugh at the hosts anyway. The green armchair is Gordons. Tommy doesn’t like it when people are in his room, so Gordon never comes in without asking, and never any further than the doorway. There are shag rugs everywhere because Gordon just likes the texture. Little things.

It hits him all at once just how domestic all this is. A normal life, like normal people have, even after everything. 

He gets to have this. He gets to have this with _Gordon_.

The realization is almost too much.

Fuck. Dishes. Dishes, no time for thoughts like that. No time to look around him and realize just how comfortable this is. How safe he feels in a way he never expected to experience again. His chest hurts with how easy it is to be here, to live, to exist with someone else.

He grabs the dishes they need too hastily as he rushes out of the kitchen, the glasses clinking together with a horrible, ringing sound. 

\---

Evidently, soda does _not_ fix everything. It sure as hell can’t fix Tommy’s sudden inability to function at all around Gordon, words stuck on the back of his tongue and posture painfully stiff in a way he’s almost certain is noticeable. Fuck.

He just- no. It’s fine. Just keep watching the movie, Tommy. Focus on this silly Star Trek spoof that Gordon said he picked because he said it made him think of you. Just that. Don’t let your mind drift the way it always does around him, don’t worry if now is the right time to just tell him how you feel already, don’t say anything. Just. Watch. The. Movie.

Frankly, he does a pretty good job after a while. His ramrod straight back isn’t as painfully poised anymore, hands resting more comfortably in his lap. He feels almost comfortable.

That is, until Gordon shifts on the couch, closer to Tommy by an inch or two without even noticing. Or at least that’s how it seems.

Well. Composure gone. Shattered to bits. He’s never getting that shit back.

God, why does everything have to be so _difficult_ with Gordon? He has his patterns, like everyone does, but they don’t make _sense_. He’s a walking contradiction in so many regards- disorganized but with a sleep schedule he sticks to like glue, easily overwhelmed by the day to day but terrifyingly calm under pressure, so, so kind to everyone around him and so mean to himself that it makes vines of worry coil their way tighter and tighter around Tommy’s heart until he chokes. It hurts. He can never get a complete picture, can never narrow down what Gordon is at his core.

But whatever he is, Tommy loves him. God, does Tommy love him. It’s consuming him from the inside out, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

Gordon’s so warm next to him. So close. He can almost feel his hand resting on the cushion, the proximity electric. His posture stiffens again.

Silence stretches between them- or, well, not silence, the movie puttering away on the television like nothings happening, blue toned lights flickering in the dimly lit room and casting a near ethereal glow. And nothing _is_ happening. They’re just two friends, watching a movie together. He refuses to look at the man beside him. Gordon, cast in this light, might just be too much.

“What is going _on_ with you?”

Tommy flinches, whipping his head towards Gordon in a blind panic. So much for that.

“I- wh-what?”

Gordon fixes him with a look, and Tommy’s heart only beats faster in his chest, practically hammering against his ribcage. He’s terrified, mostly- but Gordon’s eyes on him, that weighted, that intense, his focus on nothing else, only for Tommy- it does something to some fucked up part of his brain.

“God- you know what I mean, man!” He makes a gesture with his hands, frustration evident in his movements. “You’ve been so… dodgy, lately! I know you’re avoiding me, and I don’t fucking know _why_ and I thought this would be a nice way to unwind together but you’re doing it _again_ and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong and I-” Gordon pauses, inhaling sharply with a painfully sad look in his eyes as he stares Tommy down. “-did I do something? You- you can tell me, Tommy, I just…” He trails off again, gaze flickering down for a moment before they lock eyes again, and it almost burns to look at him. “I _miss_ you, okay?”

Guilt burns white hot in his throat, words trapped in his half open mouth as emotions swirl in his stomach, threatening to overwhelm him. He wants to apologize, to explain, _anything-_ he wants to do so much, but any attempt at a sentence falls apart on his tongue like wet sand.

Instead, his body gets up to leave, moving on its own even as his mind screams to sit back down and face this.

Gordon’s hand shoots out the moment he rises from the couch, managing one step towards the hallway before desperate, insistent fingers curl around his wrist. His grip is gentle, careful not to hold too tight even in his obvious panic, and Tommy could cry with it.

“Will you stop running away from me?” Gordon almost spits, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide with emotion, backlit by the flickering lights of the TV as he holds fast to Tommy’s arm. “What’s this about, Tommy, really? Can you please just _tell_ me what’s wrong for once?”

Tommy sputters, the look of pure, desperate affection drowned in worry on Gordon’s face burning itself into the back of his mind forever. “I- I’m not running away!”  
  


“Yes- yes you _are!_ ” Gordon’s words come out as a near shout, frantic in a way he hasn’t been since Black Mesa. “You just keep leaving and that’s _fine_ , you don’t have to be around me, but I just don’t know what I’m _doing-_ what I’m fucking up and you won’t fucking tell me what’s happening-”   
  
Tommy’s eyes squeeze shut, emotions rising to a crescendo before he snaps.

“ _It’s because I’m in love with you!_ ”

Oh.

...Oh.

He… really just said that out loud.

Silence falls over the two of them, the only noise the distant sound of the still-playing movie as the shadows around them rise and fall, Tommy’s words lingering in the air like a perfume that just won’t fade. He can still feel Gordon’s hand on his wrist, fingers looped gently around his wrist as his grip slackens. Gordon. _Gordon_.

Tommy can’t stop looking at him. Even like this, eyes wide with shock and frozen in place as if time has all but stopped, he’s so pretty. His mouth is open, lips just barely parted, and it’s the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“-Do you mean that?”

Their voices overlap, mingling awkwardly as Gordon stares him down, a sharpness in his honest, open gaze.

He’s still holding onto Tommy, in more ways than one. He can’t find it in himself to lie.

“I… yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The quiet that follows is agonizing, cutting Tommy to the bone as he holds his breath, afraid to even move, as if even a twitch would break this strange tightrope they’re walking on. Break him, and send him toppling over the side.

Gordon’s hair is pulled back, a few strands loose and dangling in front of his face. It takes everything he has not to reach out and tuck them away.

He nearly flinches when Gordon moves instead, releasing his wrist so delicately as he lets a hand reach up, up, up- so slowly that Tommy thinks he might faint. He’s still breathless, utterly shellshocked, as that hand comes to rest on his face, feather light, barely touching. Like Gordon’s afraid to hurt him. Like he could ever do anything but make Tommy feel like he’s floating six feet off the ground.

Gordon’s hand presses a little heavier, cupping Tommy’s jaw so carefully it might bring him to tears. His thumb ghosts over his cheek, pretty, pretty eyes filled with a silent question. _Is this okay?_

Words seemed to have failed the both of them, the air filled with a tension that keeps building by the second, ticking up and up as Tommy leans just slightly into the touch. A wordless agreement. He nods.

And oh, that’s Gordon leaning into his space, face moving closer to his with stars in his eyes. Tommy should hate this. It should feel like an invasion of privacy, making his skin crawl the way it does with anyone else, set his nerves on edge- but all he feels is anticipation and want and _love_.

When he feels Gordon’s lips on his, so soft it should be illegal, his heart nearly bursts with the weight of that affection.

His eyes won't even close, his body frozen in place as his mind races to catch up with the situation. That’s Gordon. That’s Gordon and he’s _kissing_ him. Because he wanted to. And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Gordon wants all of this just as badly as he does, and the thought of that might kill him.

Gordon’s other hand slides up his chest, fingertips brushing over his jaw in just that way that makes him turn strawberry red. God, he feels like he’s burning. Inside and out. His heart is on fire, overwhelming him with all those feelings he’d convinced himself were never going to lead to anything but disaster, and Gordon is so goddamn _warm_. He’s the sun, and Tommy can’t help but be pulled towards him, close and closer until he bursts into flames. Every little movement sets his heart aflutter. He feels as if he’s already turned to ash.

It leaves him dizzy, when Gordon pulls away, heart beating far too fast to be healthy. The way Gordon’s looking at him with wide, captivated eyes, a flush of red riding high on his cheeks, sure isn’t helping.

“...W-woah.” He manages, as articulate as ever.

That earns him a laugh, Gordon snorting as he leans heavily into Tommy’s chest, his hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders. It feels… right, to have him so close. He fits so perfectly there- they slot together the way he’s always hoped. Less like a missing piece, and more like… well, he doesn’t know. But it feels better like this. Like he’s whole in a way he wasn’t before. Like maybe, finally, they’ve crossed that awkward line once and for all. 

Like he might really get to have this. Have something good.

Gordon shifts, looking back up at him with so much affection in that soft, bright smile as he brushes a hand over the hair at the nape of his neck- and god, how had he not noticed this before? “You can touch me too, y’know. I’m not off limits.”  
  
 _Not anymore_ , Tommy thinks to himself, suddenly aware of how awkwardly his hands are poised in front of him. Hoverhands. Still, as he shifts them, stroking a hand over Gordon’s hair and looping an arm around his waist, it feels near monumental. It’s like a dream becoming reality, wishful thoughts not so wishful anymore.

But this is real. This is so, so real. His mind couldn’t make up the way he can hear Gordon’s heart hammering in his chest, pressed so close- or the little movements he makes with his head, leaning into Tommy’s hand in his hair like a kitten in a sunbeam. It’s not exactly like whatever he might have imagined late at night, curled up around his pillow with a distinct pang of longing in his chest- but he doesn’t want that anymore. He just wants this- more of this reality that he can’t quite believe he’s been lucky enough to find himself in. More of the way Gordon hums into his chest, the feeling of his hands drifting back up to hold Tommy’s face like it’s the most precious thing in the world- _more_ . And maybe he’s greedy for that, maybe he’s selfish, but he can afford to be a little selfish for once. He never wants this to stop- not if it means getting to look at Gordon like this. He looks so _happy_.

It’s like he’s been starving for something he couldn’t put a name to his entire life, and for once, he feels sated.

God, Gordon does things to him. Makes him stupid, makes his mind drift places it never has before, drives him up the wall in all the best ways. It’s good. It feels _good_. Tommy’s not used to things feeling good. Not like this.

“You’re so pretty.” His mouth says for him as he thumbs over Gordon’s cheek, utterly starstruck. “You know that?”

Gordon groans, burying his face in Tommy’s chest- but not before he catches sight of the quickly deepening blush on his face, colouring his skin a deep crimson- and he laughs, holding him close as he strokes a hand through his hair. “Shut up.” Gordon grumbles into the fabric he’s pressed up against, voice just barely muffled. “I love you.”

Something about hearing that knocks him flat on his back, his breach hitching as his hands still all of a sudden.

Oh. Well, it had kind of been implied- Gordon did kiss him, after all- but it’s another thing entirely to hear it said. To know, definitively and without a doubt, that this isn’t an unrequited thing. His heart feels like a jackhammer in his chest all over again.

“...Tommy?” He hears, small and nervous as Gordon pokes his head out to look up at him with a worried expression. “Sorry, is that- is that too far?”

He blinks, shaking his head rapidly before his words catch up to him again. “What? N-no! Of course it, it isn’t!” A laugh bubbles out of his chest, high pitched and giddy. “It’s… really nice, actually. I, um, like how you say it.”  
  
Gordon stares for a moment, still ever so slightly worried. It fades almost as quickly as it had appeared and he grins up at him in response, drumming his fingers on Tommy’s collarbone in a short and sweet rhythm. “You do, huh?”   
  
Oh god. Tommy gets the distinct feeling he’s just opened a can of worms.

“I love you,” He says, and even that is almost too much for Tommy’s poor heart. “A whole fucking lot. I like seeing you in the morning before anything really starts. I like how you look in those grey pants you bought last month. I like when you make tea and the whole kitchen smells like cardamom for hours.” Gordon presses a little closer, that teasing edge to his voice fading fast and leaving only a tone so gentle and warm and open that it makes him want to cry. “I like it when you laugh. I like- I like being able to live with you like this. I- fuck, Tommy, you saved my _life_ and you saved _me_ and I think I’ve been in love with you for… so much longer than I realized.”

Tommy’s almost certain Gordon is trying to kill him. Holy shit.

He feels dizzy with affection, desperate to say something like that right back and let this lovely, wonderful, beautiful man know just how much he means to him- but words fail. There are no words like the ones he needs for this, so he reaches forward and pulls Gordon into another kiss, and hopes it’ll be enough.

Tommy pours everything into it, cupping Gordon’s face in his hands like he wants to hold him here forever and never let go. And maybe he never will, the slide of Gordon’s lips against his intoxicating and putting his senses in a world of bliss as he feels strong arms loop around his neck so, so gently, pulling him even closer. They’re flush against each other, standing in the middle of the living room and kissing like they might drown if they stop, the movie long forgotten and probably rolling credits by now- and it’s the happiest Tommy’s ever been.

He hopes Gordon can feel it, feel just how much he cares as he kisses him like his life depends on it. He wants- _needs_ Gordon to know. Needs him to understand that he loves him so much he can’t think straight. Needs him to know that he’s wonderful, gorgeous, perfect- _loved_.

Out of breath, Gordon pulls back with an expression of wonderment on his face, cheeks burning red as he clings to Tommy like theres no tomorrow, and his mouth goes off like a rocket.

“I-I’m so in love with you, Gordon- _god_ , do you- do you know what you do to me?” Tommy cards a hand through his hair, the curls soft under his fingers. “I’ve b-been tripping all over myself for- for months. I liked- I really liked you already, but then you, you went and offered me a place to stay and that just made it _worse_ and- fuck, sometimes you’re all that’s ever on my mind.”

He leans a little closer, expression soft as Gordon stares at him with those pretty brown eyes, near ethereal in the low, artificial light. “Y-you’re so good.” He murmurs, stroking a thumb over Gordon’s cheek. “So good to me. I don’t- I really don’t- how did I get this lucky?”

Oh. It’s Gordon’s turn to look like he’s about to combust.

He’s so red in the face it’s… honestly kind of impressive. And a little concerning. Especially coupled with his wide eyed stare, mouth ever so slightly open.

Before Tommy can say anything, though, he sputters, shaking his head as he rushes to hide his face, burying it in the crook of Tommy’s neck with a squeak that was probably intended as a groan.

“You okay, Gordon?”  
  
“Mmmghfhfg.”

He laughs, patting the back of Gordon’s head and wrapping an arm around his waist, just enjoying the way they fit together. It dawns on him, all of a sudden, that they’ve been standing up through this entire affair. And hey, the couch ist right next to them- they may as well sit down. 

“Gordon?” He asks, still holding him close to his chest.

“Mm… yeah?”  
  
“Is it alright if I, um, p-pick you up for a moment?”   
  
Gordon’s silent for a split second, before making a noise to the affirmative that sounds oddly flustered. Tommy can’t help but smile.

It doesn’t take much. Just push and pull gravity’s strings for a split second, lift Gordon gently off the ground, take a seat on the couch and set him down in his lap. Simple.

“You’re going to kill me.” Gordon murmurs with a smile as he pulls back into view, arms still wrapped around Tommy’s neck. “I’m going to die and it’ll be your fault, you terrible man.”

Tommy snorts, kissing the tip of Gordon’s nose in lieu of a real response. “N-now you know how I feel.”

Gordon laughs, warm and bright, and Tommy’s chest is overflowing with syrupy sweet affection, bubbling up into his throat and spreading through his limbs. What on earth did he do to earn something as lovely as this?

“Guess we’ve both been kinda stupid about things, huh?” Gordon quips, leaning his forehead against Tommy’s own as carefully as he can, letting a hand rest in his hair.

He can’t help but chuckle a little at that, tucking a loose curl of grey behind Gordon’s ear. “That’s an, an understatement.”

Gordon shakes his head, still smiling. “Fuck- it sure is, huh?”  
  
A wave of silence washes over them- not like before, not tense and heavy and wound terrifyingly tight- just quiet. Easy. Content. The movie isn’t even playing anymore, screen returned to the title menu as the two of them sit on the couch in a comfortable silence, Gordon a pleasant weight in his lap as he fidgets with one of the strings on the other man’s hoodie. It’s… nice. More than nice. It’s as close to perfect as Tommy thinks he’s ever gotten.

Gordon’s voice- lovely, warm, he could listen to it all day- cuts through the quiet, even as he gently adjusts the collar of Tommy’s shirt and flashes him a look. 

“So… what are we, now? Are- are we dating?”  
  
Tommy blinks up at him with a lopsided smile. “If you w-want to be.”   
  
That earns him a slowly spreading grin, Gordon leaning in for a soft kiss that’s over far too soon, leaves him wanting more as those fingers skim along his jaw, cupping his face. “Yeah. I think I want to be.”   
  
Dating. They’re dating. He wasn’t actually ready for that realization.

His cheeks flush, the tips of his ears turning pink as he rubs a thumb along the small of Gordon’s back. “I- Oh my god, y-you’re my boyfriend now.”

Gordon laughs again, the sound full and practically musical. “And- and you’re mine!” He leans in, cuddling up to Tommy like a strangely shaped cat. “That’s… wow. I like that a lot.”  
  


Tommy smiles, his racing thoughts calm for once. The world is a sleepy haze of the half eaten pizza he can still see on the coffee table, the soft light still beaming from the TV, and Gordon, Gordon, _Gordon_.

Gordon. His boyfriend.

He likes the sound of that.

\---

It’s a lazy morning.

Saturdays are always nice. Neither of them have work, so there’s no schedule to fret over, no deadlines to meet. Just a day in the house with each other.

For once, Tommy wakes up late. He must have slept strangely, stayed up too late a few too many nights, but when he stumbles to the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes, Gordon’s already there. There’s a distinct smell in the air that he can’t quite place, but damn if it doesn’t make his mouth water.

He makes a noise from the edge of the kitchen, exhausted brain failing him in the words department, but he needs to let Gordon know he’s there. The man in question looks up from the stove with a smile, grey-streaked curls tied up in a messy bun that leaves some of his hair hanging loose around his face, still wearing his pajama bottoms and an unbuttoned, oversized shirt he stole from Tommy. He’s beautiful. Tommy’s so in love.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Gordon says softly as Tommy moves towards him, draping himself over Gordon’s shoulders and glancing down into the pan on the stove. Pancakes. Hell fucking yeah. “Thought I’d get a head start on breakfast.”  
  
“S’eleven thirty.” He mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of Gordon’s neck.

That gets him a snort and an affectionate roll of the eyes he can just feel. “It’s still morning, honey. Now shut up and let me make you pancakes.”

He does shut up- but only because his brain short circuits at the pet name. _Honey_. No one’s ever called him anything like that before. He… he could get used to it.

Evidently, Gordon didn’t really want him to be quiet. “Hey, d’you want some eggs with this? I know you don’t like bacon.”

Tommy mulls it over for a minute before nodding, his hands fidgeting with the collar of the shirt Gordon’s wearing. He doesn’t even care that he stole it. It’s unfairly cute, seeing him in it. It makes his heart do funny things in his chest. “Yeah. Scrambled, please?”

“Got it.” Gordon hums, a little ditty that Tommy can’t place, but he’s sure he’s heard it before. It’s pretty, in his voice. Most things are.

“Mm… wha’s that song?” He asks, voice muffled as he tucks his face away again.

“Oh!” A small laugh bubbles out of Gordon as he flips the pan after a few tries, spatula held tightly in his other hand. “It’s, uh, just La Vie En Rose. I… like the tune.” He pauses for a moment, reaching up to pet Tommy’s hair with a free hand, what little he can see of Gordon’s expression softening beyond belief. “Kinda reminds me of you. I know that’s _real_ fucking corny, though.”

“Yeah.” Tommy says softly, cheeks flushing slightly as his brain slowly starts to wake up. “But it’s sweet.”

“Aw.” Gordon responds, audibly flustered despite the joking tone. “Careful, someone might think you like me or something.”  
  
He snorts, maneuvering himself over Gordon’s shoulders to give him a kiss on the cheek, watching as he blushes red almost immediately. “G-good thing I do, right?”

“You’re a sap.”  
  
“You’re an, an even bigger one.”   
  
Gordon laughs again, deep and joyful and from the chest. God, he’ll never get tired of that sound. “You got me there.”

The soft sound of the pan fills the kitchen as Tommy nestles back into Gordon’s shoulders, the two of them standing together in the lovely, near mid day quiet. He wants a thousand days like this. He wants to wake up with this man every morning for as long as he can. He wants to cook him breakfast for once, wants to make him laugh as much as he can, wants to see him smile. This is… good. It’s safe, and warm, and theirs, and there is food on the stove and a song on Gordon’s lips and so much love in Tommy’s heart.

They can have this, just for them. They deserve it, after everything.

“Hey- not that this isn’t great, but if you want eggs, I need to… get to the fridge?” Gordon’s voice is soft as he slips a pancake onto the plate he’s set up for the finished ones, fingers deft as he arranges it on top.

“Mmf.” Tommy replies, not moving an inch. “In a second.”  
  
Gordon smiles, reaching back to run a hand through his hair again, the expression on his face so unbelievably fond that Tommy can scarcely believe it’s directed at him. “Whatever you say, man.”

He nearly giggles, eyes sliding shut as he stands there, draped over his boyfriends shoulders. Boyfriend. That word is still a novelty, fresh on his tongue and strange, but correct somehow. Better than just ‘friend’. He really can’t believe he got so lucky.

Gordon’s warm, practically a space heater, and Tommy finds himself cuddling up to him again as he pours another batch of batter into the pan, letting it sizzle away. The soft crackle of the stove, the sounds of birds distantly flitting about outside, the slow, steady rhythm of Gordon’s breathing- it’s the loveliest song he’s ever heard.

It’s a lazy morning, and Tommy is content.

**Author's Note:**

> WELL THATS THAT AINT IT THANK YOU FOR READING SO MANY FUCKING WORDS
> 
> tbh im,, not sure how i feel about this but its published anyway because i'm GAY and i LOVE THESE TWO so much its unreal. this was fun to write and i rlly hope you enjoyed! :]
> 
> im chaotic-solutions over on tungle dot hell please talk 2 me about freelatta


End file.
